Death Knights Don't Sing Lullabies
by juggernaut715
Summary: A Forsaken Death Knight deals with a drunken Night Elf in Dalaran. Stuffed and dripping with sarcasm. Rated T for suggestive images. R&R, please. I'm thinking about a sequel, but it'll take a day or two.


**A Forsaken Death Knight deals with a drunken Night Elf in Dalaran. Stuffed and dripping with sarcasm. Rated T for suggestive images.** **R&R, please.**

* * *

Death Knights are not on the "approachable" list. You don't just walk over to one and engage in conversation, unless you've already met them or you know them from when they were alive. And then there was the matter of the Forsaken Death Knights. They're _overkill._ Undeath in the undead, just a bit much.

This is the reasoning behind Westins' confusion at the person sitting down next to him. He was at a bar, so it wasn't too out of place. But the bar was nearly empty. And he was sitting at the back-end, away from everyone else, in the shadows. In fact, besides the sheen of his armor off the candlelight, the only thing another person would be able to see would be his spectral blue eyes.

He nearly spat out his drink when the person put their head down on the bar and let out a loud sigh. They wore a hood, so he could only guess at their appearance...but from the voice he assumed a Night Elf, and a female at that, based on the pitch. That just made the situation odder. He was in Dalaran, sure, and though he was discouraged from even coming to the city of the Kirin Tor because of his, uh, _situation,_ it was odd for the factions to intermingle outside of squabbles in the street. He guessed the reason for the casualness of the woman next to him was because they were below the street.

The Underbelly was filled with rats, riff-raff, drunks, fishermen, classes of all kinds, and people of every race. Plenty of people fought in the arena area, but the Underbelly guards, though invisible, did not allow fighting elsewhere. There were invisible wards to discourage the squabbles that happened above-ground _below-_ground because they used to escalate to backstabbing and full on brawls.

The Night Elf stretched her arms out onto the bar. They were out of the arena area, in a small hut-shack known as Cantrips and Crows. And Westin was getting a bit nervous in his Sanctified Scourgelord Battlegear. He'd only recently gained the armor after coming back from several conquests within the Icecrown Citadel. Most recently he defeated a the great Frost Giant nearing the top of the tower. Soon, soon, he told himself, he'd get closer to the Lich King, and his vengeance for his creation and unlife. But at the moment he had more pressing issues; A woman was poking him in the helm. She had to reach up a few feet to do it, as he had been quite tall when alive, and retained a lot of that height in death.

"Oi, Death Knight!" She half-shouted. He lowered his mug slowly and turned to look down at the now de-hooded Night Elf. "Pretty" does not surmount as a proper description, it couldn't even come close. She was _gorgeous._ And he was undead. Not a good way to start a staring contest.

After a few moments he replied in his guttural baritone, the echoing effect making it shake a bit. "What?" She had spoken Common, so he spoke Common back. Her silver eyes widened and she opened her mouth in an 'o'.

"You can speak Common!" She half-shouted once again, clapping her hands with a big grin on her face. "I was so worried! I thought I'd have to use _Orcish_, or something. But you Death Knights don't speak Orcish, do you? Is there something like Archerus-ian? Or is do you use hand signs? Or telepathy? Hey, can you poop?" Westin just stared unblinking into the trainwreck of questions he was being shoved into.

"Um..." He brought up a gauntleted hand and scratched his chin, or what was left of it. He really didn't know how to answer any of those questions, so he went for the easy way out. "I can poop, yes." She squealed, causing Westin to glance around the room to check for a banshee having a good time.

"Hey, hey, Death Knight!" She said, practically bouncing from side to side on her stool with her hands together in a sort of praying position. "Do you have a date to the party?" Now, Westin didn't know what she was talking about. There was a party?

"No." He said, about to say he didn't know about the party, but he was immediately deafened by another one of those god awful _squeals._ If he didn't know any better and didn't have a good sense of unlife, he'd say she had a banshee possessing her.

"Be my date?" She asked, silver eyes gleaming and turning into great big dinner plates of puppy-ish pleading. Bringing the mug to his lips Westin chugged the entire pint of Firewater. Slamming it down on the bar he turned to face the Night Elf fully, and leaned forward. He'd been in the shadows all this time; whether Kaldorei could see in the dark he didn't know, but from her reaction she probably thought he was _human_, or something.

"You want me to be your date? At a party?" He drawled out, looming over her in all his deadly glory. She gazed up at him and her ears drooped, her mouth making that 'o' again as she leaned back to look up.

"You're Forsaken." She whispered. Yep. She'd definitely thought he was something else. Westin let out a dark chuckle, the echoing effect of unlife twice over making it sound so _hollow,_ so..._dead_ that the entire bar, or at least the several patrons present, silenced just to listen to the laughter.

"What did you think I was? Another Night Elf? A Draenei? _Human?_" He raised a hand, ushering the bartender to bring him another one as he leaned back into the shadows, hiding everything but his dark armor and his blue eyes from view once again. The elf, to her credit, raised her hand as well, and stayed sitting next to him.

"Night Elf." She said, finally, once their drinks were slammed down in front of them.

"That so?" Westin asked, taking a swig. "And now, knowing that you speak to a being of _double_ unlife, as well as part of the _Horde_, does your offer still stand?" He was teasing, of course. He held no interest for parties, nor social gatherings of any sort unless it was a raid or the demolition of _something_ Mograine wanted dead.

The Night elf hesitated, twiddling her fingers for a moment. Then in one swift motion she reached out with both hands and gripped her mug, bringing it to her lips and chugging the entire thing down. Westin just stared, unblinking. The bartender had been pouring a drink for a Tauren, and had the glass spilling over. When she was finished she slapped it down on the wood and turned to face him again, reaching out with one hand and grabbing the horn on his helmet, giving it a hard yank. It didn't move him an inch. But he played along, lowering himself as she pulled with both hands, grinding her teeth. When he was an inch from her face she let out a breath that smelled of forests, nature, and alcohol. "My offer still stands, you-hic!-you D-Double-death faced _icestick._" Oh, she was drunk. And fast, too, as apparently that had been her first drink. Westin could only lift his head and raise his own mug to his lips in contemplation, even with both her hands still tugging on his helmet's horns.

She still wanted him to go? She _was_ drunk, obviously, but she still wanted him to go. Maybe the drink was for confidence? Westin cursed inwardly. He didn't _want_ to go, he'd only been _teasing._ And she was still asking him to go, even knowing he was a Death Knight, a man of the Horde, _and_ Forsaken. He leaned back into the light with a cruel grin on his face. She wanted him to go?Fine, he'd go. "Where to?"

The party was supposed to be happening in the Mages Quarter, but at the moment Westin was holding up a half-conscious Night Elf by the waist while holding her hair out of the path of the puke coming from her mouth in the Underbelly back-alley. (They do, actually, have a back-alley. It's just not shown in the game.) He'd let her lead him out the bar, but then she started falling all over the place, and he had to carry her down the sewer for a while until they got here, where she was expelling throw-up for the sixth time.

"You, my dear, dear Night Elf, are never drinking again." He said, mirthlessly. If he ever saw this Elf in a bar again, he'd throw her out himself. It was despicable. A species as High-born (get it?) as the Night Elf shouldn't be puking in a back alley. That privilege belonged to _his_ people, and the dwarves. It made him sick, the sight of such a beautiful creature in such a bad way. That isn't to say he was pleased with holding an arm around her slender waist; he'd lost all drive once he died the first time, and he wasn't going to get it back any time soon.

"_Oooooooh..."_ She began to sing once she had finished retching. "_I wonsh met ah fer maaaaaaaid..."_ She continued to hum the tune even as she leaned against her Death Knight companion walking down the sewer-street towards the ramps that would take them above ground. She seemed to be clinging to him, one arm wrapped firmly around the front of his armor, even though it was damn near freezing temperature, and the other trying to poke his nose. She nearly tripped when she succeeded, and because of it, both success and the danger she posed to herself, he forcefully held that arm to her side.

They made an odd sight in the streets of Dalaran. There was a common misconception that mages had reasonable bedtimes; they never slept. The nights were as active as the days, and magelights on the walls and in lampposts kept the cobblestone walkways alight even in the early hours of the morning as they were now. Several people in a group, Alliance, all of them, sent a distrustful glare towards Westin. And that glare became hostile when they saw who he had with him.

"Hey, you Forsaken _Pig!_ What do you think you're doing?!" A large warrior yelled, stepping towards him with a finger pointing. Humans. Always so self-righteous. The man reached out with one arm to pull the Elf from Westin's grasp, but he instead found a _large_ rune-sword pointed at his nose.

"Human." Westin greeted coldly. "She's drunk. And she's clingy. I'd couldn't just leave her in a bar filled with those dangerous rapists of the Horde, now could I?" The man reached behind his back and pulled a shield and sword out.

"_I'll_ take her to the Alliance Quarter. _You_ can head off to whatever stinkhole you crawled out of, Ebon swine." Westin rolled his eyes.

"I'd love to hear you say that with Mograine around. And that would be the same stinkhole _she_ came from, but that's besides the point. Take her, and give me peace." Westin sheathed his sword and released the arm of the Night Elf and tried to push her forward, but she shook her head, instead clinging to his chestplate like a leech. Westin's blue eyes narrowed. "Clingy. Very, _very_ clingy." He glanced back at the warrior, who glared back.

"Too clingy. You didn't use some Death Knight sorcery, did you?"

"For what purpose would I do such a thing? _I_ want to be rid of her." The warrior didn't put away his sword or shield. "Oh, you Stormwind-ian _oaf,_ help me pry her off." Flinching at the echoing tone, the warrior put away his weapons and stepped forward, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"_Noooooooooooooooooooooo..."_ she moaned, quietly, holding on tightly to Westin's armor. Then she lashed out at the warrior. And...woah. With one punch she crumpled the armor on his chest and sent him flying across the street. Westin watched him soar, then looked down at the Kaldorei latched onto his chest.

"Little Elf is a strong elf." He said aloud, frowning. She would have crushed normal armor by now, the way she clung to him. Sighing, he began to walk forward, stepping past the party of Alliance who were running around him to get to their injured comrade. He could take her to the inn, he supposed, though that would mean putting her in Horde territory, and he didn't trust his comrades not to do terrible things to her. So what were his options?

He could just continue walking around the city. He could bring her to the inn in the Horde quarter and take the risk. He could put her in the Legerdemain Lounge, but that was just as bad as the Sunreaver's Sanctuary in terms of Horde soldiers present. They called it a neutral inn-fah! It was far more filled with red than blue.  
Or he could try and enter the Alliance inn and put her in a bed. He could only guess that she'd release her hold when put in a bed, so it was a longshot. Making up his mind after a few moments of inner and outer grumbling, he turned towards the Silver Enclave.

"Top of the morning to you." He said, approaching the guards of the Enclave. Two Guardian Mages as tall as he was just stared, wide-eyed, at the sight of a Forsaken Death Knight with a Night Elf clutching her arms around his waist. One of them raised a hand automatically as a warning.

"You aren't welcome here, Forsaken." The other one just looked between Westin and the Night Elf.

"Why do you have a Night Elf on you?" He asked. Westin sighed and demonstrated the motions of trying to pull her off and how he couldn't.

"She's stuck to me. A Warrior tried to get her off earlier but found himself punched to the wall. By _her._" Westin stepped forward, the first Guardian Mage raising his hand higher. "I know its unorthodox, and I know it's not allowed, but I'd like to enter the Silver Enclave to put her in bed." The first mage lowered his hand slightly.

"You want to _enter_ the Silver Enclave?"

"No, I want to sell you cookies like a little girl. Are you deaf?" Westin snapped. The second Guardian scratched his head.

"Um...this is not a situation we've ever had to deal with before." His eyes narrowed. "Is that _really_ a Night Elf, or is it a Blood Elf in disguise?" Westin shrugged.

"I haven't stripped her, so I don't know. You're Mages, right? Check her yourself." The first mage raised his hand once more and a faint blue coated his finger tips as he traced a pattern in the air, then gestured it forward. It floated in front of Westin and the Night Elf.

"She's a Night Elf, alright." He said, groaning. "This is not what I signed up for."

"You're not the one with a drunk Night Elf latched to your chest. Now come on, am I allowed to enter or not?"

"Why don't you just bring her to the Horde Inn and save us the trouble? Or even better, the Legerdemain Lounge?" The second mage asked, crossing his arms. Westin turned his eerie blue gaze and locked a stare with him.

"You'd prefer I put her there? With _Orcs?_ What, you want her to die a horrible death after what _they'll_ do to her? Even _I_ am not so heartless, and mine stopped beating two lifetimes ago. And the Legerdemain is not safe for anyone, regardless what faction."

The first mage turned for a moment, turned back, stared at Westin for a moment, and then turned to enter the building. The second mage uncrossed his arms and pointed a glowing finger at Westin as precaution; he didn't have a teammate to back him up at the moment, so he had to be prepared. There was a shout from inside the Enclave. A few more shouts. A curse or two. Then two figures approached the entrance, one of them being the Guardian Mage, and the other being Isirami Fairwind, the innkeeper of A Hero's Welcome. She had the look on her face of someone very, _very_ angry, but she kept her tone polite.

"My, the woman is rather attached to you, isn't she?" Her tone was polite, sure, but there was obvious mocking in the undertone. Westin stepped forward once again, and this time he got so close that both Mages raised their hands.

"I want her off me, you've got beds, let's make a baby." Isirami didn't take those words literally, thank god, and caught the meaning.

"I'll have to deal with some serious consequences for this later, I bet." She muttered, lowering the arms of one of the Mages. "Leave your weapons here, at least. If Mydier takes anything you have my permission to gut him bare handed. Sound fair?" She grinned like a fox, and one of the Mages shuddered. Westin pulled the sheathed sword off his back and tossed it to the mage, who fell over at the weight of the weapon.

"Fair enough, though I doubt he'll be able to run off with it." Isirami waved a hand, ushering Westin forward, Elf pulled along with him. The mage who still stood stepped to the side, and Westin entered the Silver Enclave. Immediately he had a few swords at his throat, a set of daggers at his back, and at least ten people with their hands glowing in preparation to blast him to oblivion. "Nice to meet you too." He muttered, raising a gauntlet and grasping the tip of a sword in front of his nose, lower it slightly and glaring at its wielder.

"Don't touch the Forsaken." Isirami said, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hadn't signed up for this job either, obviously. "Notice the elf currently attached to his armor like a bloodstain on a white tunic. That's why he's here." Most of the people actually hadn't noticed her, and blinked in recognition of her presence.

"Why..." One muttered.

"_I_ don't want to be here just as much as _you _don't want me here. So out of my way, and let me do my business." Westin said in a low voice that carried throughout the entire entrance hall. The blades were lowered, and everyone stopped chanting their spells. That didn't stop everyone from glaring at him though as he continued to walk across the room, armor clinking.

"Forsaken scum..." Someone said. "Undead freak." Another stated. Westin rolled his eyes and ignored them. Eventually he reached the inn, and was directed to the beds on the second floor. Isirami pointed out to one in the back and he meandered over to it. The place was empty, surprisingly.

"Elf. Let go. Time for bed." The Elf, much to his chagrin, shook her head and continued to snuggle against his armor. How she didn't have frostbitten cheeks, he couldn't tell. Sighing, Westin turned around and sat down in the bed. "Elfy...Its comfy...more comfortable than my Runecrafted Armor..." Still no reaction. He looked over at Isirami, who was rubbing her forehead with her eyes closed.

"You can't force her off?" She asked, and Westin shrugged.

"Even if I do I can't promise she won't latch back on. And from the feel of what I've attempted so far, I'll only get her off if I remove her arms. You don't mind?"

"No!" Isirami said, raising a hand. Westin raised an eyebrow.

"You thought I was serious?" Isirami lowered her hand, blushing slightly.

"I've heard rumors of you Forsaken in battle. No reason to doubt." The Death Knight narrowed his eyes.

"No, my dear Innkeeper, we don't just remove arms, we _eat_ them. In fact, you look quite delicious." The expression on her face made Westin chuckle, and he turned back to the Elf anchored to his side. "What do I have to do to make you let go?" To his surprise this actually roused the Elf slightly.

"_Shing meh ah lullubuh..."_ She mumbled. Unblinking Westin looked over at Isirami.

"You wouldn't happen to know any lullabies?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Cause I want you to sing one to her." Westin said in a monotone. "She wants one. Sing one." Isirami raised both hands in a defensive gesture.

"I-I can't sing." She said, stepping backwards. "There isn't anyone else up here so you can't kill anyone, I'll just wait downstairs." She shot down the stairs like a bullet from a dwarven musket.

"I could always kill her, you know!" Westin called after her. When he got no response he cursed, and looked down at the Elf who stared at him now with glazed eyes. "You want me to sing a lullaby?" She nodded. He cursed once more. He didn't know any lullabies-he was a Death Knight, not to mention Forsaken. Groaning, he brought a hand to his helm and yanked it off, setting it on the nightstand next to the bed. "You want me to sing you a lullaby." He repeated to himself, scratching his hair, which thankfully didn't fall out at the touch.

"I guess I've got no choice in the matter, or I'll be here till you sober up...which I don't think will be for a while." She nodded once more, only confirming his suspicions. "You're drunk." He said, more to himself. He clamped his eyes shut for a moment and took in some air through his nose. "Ah..." He coughed. He didn't know any lullabies, but he knew the tune of the song she began singing earlier after puking. It'd have to do.

"_I once met a fair maid in-_uh- _Old Undercity..._" He didn't know all the words. Opening one eye he found the Elf's eyes fluttering already. Maybe this wouldn't be too tough. "_She was-_ah-_missing an ear and_-and..uh...-_smelled pretty shitty._" The eyes had stopped fluttering and her breathing had started to slow down. "Um..-_I suppose that in hindsight she wasn't really pretty."_ The ears twitched and she started to release her grip. Westin was starting to get the hang of this. "_And in turn I'll admit my limericks aren't witty."_

He removed her arms from his chest while continuing to hum the tune, slowly laying her down against the sheets, and pulled the quilt up over her. Persisting in his tune, he rose from the bed and adorned his helm, walking away from the bed slowly so his armor wouldn't clink and wake her. Casting a glance over his shoulder at the stairwell he still hummed, and even as he passed between the Alliance soldiers on the way out, he still hummed that tune.

"Damn Elf. You got a song stuck in my head." He chuckled, picking his sword off of the mage beneath it, and turned to walk towards the Sunreaver's Sanctuary.


End file.
